


A Demon's Game

by EveryAlternateEnding



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Extramarital Affairs, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Mind Games, Revelations, Revenge, Satanism, Self-Discovery, the whole cast gets tormented by a demon, uncovering secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryAlternateEnding/pseuds/EveryAlternateEnding
Summary: The thirteen animation studio employees find themselves back in the mystic void where they were once forced to watch each others' best and worst memories. This time, however, fate has a much more sinister game for them to play. One that will force them to fight to the death in a battle of wits and perception. No one's secrets are safe. Revenge will be wrought. Friends and enemies will be made. Love will be tested. All for the entertainment of an unkillable demon.P.S.: this occurs chronologically after another story of mine called, "Defining Memories," but don't worry if you've never read it, you'll still be able to understand this story without issue.
Relationships: Henry Stein/Linda Stein, Jack Fain & Bertrum Piedmont, Joey Drew & Henry Stein, Lacie Benton & Grant Cohen & Shawn Flynn, Shawn Flynn & Wally Franks, norman polk & Grant Cohen
Kudos: 18





	1. Into the Void

It was 7:00 pm on a Sunday evening when Joey Drew found himself pulled straight out of his regular life and into a purple, mystic void. Strangely enough, this wasn’t the first time this had happened: about two months ago, he and twelve of his employees had been gathered into a void just like this, then allowed to leave once they had watched each others’ memories.

This was different, though. Then, well, the mystic void had seemed a little much, but Joey had been expecting some supernatural events. You could even say he’d unleashed them. Now? Joey was clueless, and his heart was like a lead hammer pounding at his chest. What had he done?

“What’s going on, Joey?” a voice asked. He turned to see that it was Henry, and the other eleven people from last time were there, too, looking confused and, in most cases, worried. Joey’s throat was so tight that wasn’t sure he could speak. “We’re just here to watch more memories, right?”

Just then, a maniacal laughter emanated from all around them, loud and high-pitched.

 **Oh, absolutely not!** The void mocked. It was jaunty and garbled and high-pitched. **I paid you my favour, and you didn’t pay me back. And you didn’t put me away properly, either. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do: now that you all know each other a bit, we’re going to play a game. You hear?**

“Joey, get us out of here!” Sammy yelled. There was fear evident in his voice. “Do it. You know how, right?”

Joey stared vacantly into the void as it laughed and laughed at them.

 **No one here is getting away until you entertain me. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to take your souls, and put em’ in random bodies. And you’ll want to keep up the performance of being whoever you’re supposed to be, because at the end of the week, you’ll all get a chance to guess each others’ identities. Anyone who can guess more identities than their identity was correctly guessed will be put back into their original body. Anyone else,** the voice giggled, **DIES! I’ll give you all, hmm… about two minutes to work out the practicalities. Bye-bye!**

The thirteen people got a good look at each other, perhaps so they’d recognize who they were a couple minutes from now. Strangely, the strongest reactions in the room seemed to be nervousness and stunned shock, most likely because the reality of such a bizarre scenario hadn’t sunk in yet.

After a while, Thomas spoke up on the practicalities of the situation. “Alright. Here’s what I propose we do,” Thomas said, trying to sound perfectly calm. He wanted nothing more than to wring Joey’s neck, but now was not the time. “Let’s all write any important information about how to handle each other’s lives on pieces of paper and leave them taped to our own lockers, or offices, or whatever it is we have. That can include any meds we have to take, how to interact with family members, details about work, whatever. Alright?”

Allison’s sobs were the only answer.

Thomas blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was still hearing those same sobs, albeit in a somewhat deeper voice, but he was in an apartment he didn’t recognize and looking at the face of Sammy Lawrence. Looking down at his own hands, he saw very thin arms coated in inky black gloves.

“Oh, Sammy, what’s wrong?” Thomas cooed in the girliest, most sympathetic tone he could muster. The game had begun.

The next day, the thirteen took to their roles. Thomas hated his new body. Susie hadn’t been kidding about not producing body heat because she was made of ink, and he was freezing cold whenever he was outside of her well-heated apartment. On the plus side, the note said that Joey Drew had her scheduled to do some bit parts for an upcoming episode because he hadn’t been able to find a replacement voice actress yet, so at very least he wouldn’t have to do her usual performances and meet-and-greets as Alice Angel. He barely knew a thing about this studio’s characters, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to sing.

Sammy didn’t mind being Allison too much. He could sing. He had a feeling that living with “Thomas” wouldn’t be such an issue, either. While he was experimenting with his new singing voice the night before, Sammy caught “Thomas” bundling up in a heavy sweater and heading out to stargaze in the crisp night air. “He” walked so delicately when he thought no one was watching, and the way he was holding “his” arms to his heart- there was no doubt about it. This was Susie rediscovering life in a human body. He even caught her feeling her pulse, unaware that she was being watched. It crushed Sammy’s heart to see, but at least he’d figured out an identity.

Allison didn’t like Sammy, and not just because of the air of snobbery she got from him, or all the contemptuous looks he gave to Tom. By his memories, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d had a part in Susie’s death and rebirth. Now that she had his body, well, she’d figure out a way to make things even. She knew she would. And in the meantime, there were certain other ways that she planned on taking advantage of it.

Bertrum had ended up the body of the lyricist, Jack Fain. He supposed there were worse things- writing song lyrics sounded like something he could learn. He, like many of the other players, had to ask where his office was. To his dismay, he learned that he had no office: he usually worked in the sewers. Was there anyone in this company who wasn’t either incompetent, a psychological wreck, disrespectful, or massively lacking in self-respect? Worse, he had no idea where to put his note, since, as Bertrum could work out ride designs at home and only ever came in occasionally to check on the Bendyland workers or meet with Joey Drew, he had no office or locker. He _had_ to find whoever was piloting his body so he could tell them about the dinner party with the Georgian investors on Thursday evening and make sure they didn’t ruin it. Thus, Bertrum found himself working as close to Bendyland as he could without setting off anyone’s radar, hoping to catch a glimpse of himself.

On the other hand, Jack didn’t mind being Bertrum. He worried about how things were going with his husband and adoptive kids, of course, and the situation was scary in general, but at least his form put him at an advantage. This way he would have an excuse to interact with “Lacie” for as long as he needed to in order to figure out her identity, and wouldn’t need to interact with too many other players of the game. He could focus on designing attractions that weren’t rides, since he had no mechanical knowledge, and keep his profile down for the week, and he would be just fine, he hoped.

Norman was relatively unafraid. He was Shawn- more or less a best-case scenario. Shawn’s job didn’t require much skill, and he was gregarious enough that it wouldn’t be out of character to interact with almost any of the players. Plus, from years of watching from the shadows, Norman knew almost everyone’s secrets- this was a bloody game and Norman took no joy in that, but it was _his_ game.

Shawn was Lacie. Okay, someone he knew well and who wouldn’t interact with other players much. A fair deal. He could handle this. Thankfully, she had been outside when the transformation had occurred, so no one who knew her personally heard Shawn’s existential screams.

Lacie barely knew Norman beyond his reputation for watching people and rarely talking, but he seemed pretty easy to pretend to be. She had to ask a coworker what her job was, and almost laughed when she got the answer. Much of it was sitting high and mighty above the recording studio, which periodically contained _four_ players. She’d been terrified at first, but all things considered, she’d have to really screw up to lose this game.

Joey also thought he had a good deal, playing Henry. Joey knew Henry so well, and already knew wife and his children (they loved their uncle Joey). Heck, Joey had envied Henry’s home life. And Joey knew how to draw, and how to put on a persona. It seemed like a best-case scenario! That was, until it was ten a.m. and Joey was sick to death of drawing. Henry had an ability to do repetitive work for hours that Joey quite simply lacked, and Joey found himself without an excuse to visit anyone. Often, during his first day, he would just walk somewhere where he knew other players would be, and just stand there, watching, hoping for a clue to anyone’s identity. It was a very un-Henrylike thing to do, but at least it wasn’t Joeylike, either. He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be guessed for it.

Henry, in the meantime, was thrilled to be Joey. He’d worried himself to the point of vomiting the night before, thinking about how he’d have to contribute to the deaths of others for a chance to see his family again. But now, he was planning- working out misguided, Joeylike decisions that would test the nature of the players, starting with the music department. He was ready to do anything to secure his life, and being someone this powerful could only help.

Grant was in full-on panic the second he was out of the void, and the noise from that brought over a somewhat familiar-looking golden retriever to lick his shaking hand in concern. Grant had moved to another room and shut the door to keep the retriever out. It had startled him enough that he’d almost struck it, and he had no intention of hurting someone else’s pet. As soon as he came down from panic, he realized where he was: Wally’s home. Alright. This could be worse. All he had to do was clean the studio and pretend to be goofy and energetic. For a whole week. He hoped he keep it up that long without crashing.

Wally wasn’t faring much better. He knew he couldn’t handle the studio’s finances, and he didn’t know anything about Grant. Since it had been so long, Wally couldn’t even seem to remember Grant’s memories. The note he’d been left didn’t help. Most of it was pretty mundane: the first two bullet points were about where he kept his medications and a list of scheduled meetings. The next one read,

  * Do not get help with my job. I have a reputation to maintain. At least, don’t get help with anything too simple.



Not exactly what Wally wanted to hear, but still a clear message. The next point, however, was a lot more cryptic.

  * Expect a visit at 10 a.m. on Monday. Have the second folder in my filing cabinet (the blue one) out. _Have the door closed._



Well, it was 10 a.m., and Wally did have the folder out and the door closed. He heard someone twist the door handle. “Slide it under the door.” Came a deep, gravely, and very artificial-sounding voice.

Wally tried opening the door, but whoever was on the other side of it was holding it shut. Knowing that he needed to find at least one identity to stay alive, he pulled harder, but whoever was on the other side of it was much stronger than him.

“Don’t even think about it," the voice threatened. "I know exactly who you are, and if you open this door, I will tell the other eleven. Just slide that folder under the door, and keep the door closed for five minutes afterwards.”

Slowly, carefully, Wally obeyed. On the other side of the door, Grant picked up the folder and backed away slowly. He felt sorry for whoever he’d threatened, but these forms needed to be complete before the end of the week, and he was quite sure that Joey would kill him if they weren’t done properly. The second he was around the corner, he collapsed against the wall in relief. Hopefully this would be the most ridiculous thing he’d have to do this week.

“There you are, Wally,” a voice came.

Grant quickly hid the folder behind his back. “Thomas! Uh, hi!” Was that how Wally greeted Thomas? He hoped so.

“Uh, hi. So, your note probably said something about how I’m supposed to teach you to maintenance the ink machine.” Indeed, it had. “Well, that would be pretty useless, now wouldn’t it? Listen, I’ll promise not to try to figure out your identity if you can answer me this: do you know _anything_ about machinery?”

Grant had worried that being caught ten feet from his office would have been a dead giveaway. Maybe “Thomas” was just that desperate. “Sorry, no,” he said.

“Okay,” “Thomas” said. “Guess I’ll just have to teach him next week. Best of luck not dying.” Susie left, making sure to walk heavily, as Thomas would have. She’d just have to make sense of Thomas’ instructions on her own. Maybe calling GENT or getting some books on machine maintenance from the library would help. One week. She had to keep the ink machine, whose pipes and various machinery extended from one end of the studio to the other, in one piece for one week, plus keep up with the pipe installations Joey had wanted. Plus find at least two identities (she wasn’t sure how long she could hide her true colours from “Allison”), and keep her own hidden so that she could survive.

This was going to be a week.


	2. What have I done?

It was day two, and now was Henry’s time to begin implementing his plan. As far as confidence went, he felt good. Physically, he felt as weak as a man thirty years older; like his legs were struggling to handle his weight. He’d felt kind of off the day before, but not like this. Joey’s note hadn’t mentioned anything about physical illness.

Well, hopefully it wasn’t anything that would need attention. Henry burst into the recording studio and announced, “Good morning, everyone! I trust that you’re all doing an efficient job? Well, that’s great, because I have lots of changes to make and they need to be made by the deadline. Essentially, scrap the whole episode. We’re doing the next episode in our queue instead this week!”

An almost goofily large on his face, Henry approached Jack, trying not to limp, and trying to read everyone’s expressions. “Jack, we’re going to need you to write a new song. Something… 4th of July based.” The puffy-faced pout was very Bertrum Piedmont-like, but that could have just been because they had somewhat similar faces.

“Sammy, you’ll be collaborating with Jack,” Henry had expected at least a little annoyance that Sammy, an award-winning and (in Sammy’s mind, at least) chronically under-appreciated composer, was being treated as less important than Jack. Instead, Sammy just nodded indifferently. Not much of a hint.

“Allison, you can stay where you are. The new lines are ready for you to start recording, and I’m sure the song won’t take long.” Indifference. No hints. Darn.

“And Alice? Well, there’s no bit parts for you in the new episode, so I’ve put your shows and meet-and-greets back on the table. Your first show is this afternoon.”

Oh, Thomas did not like the sound of that. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he cooed in an exaggeratedly girly voice. “I’m going to have to go home sick. I could handle recording some lines, but shows are just too much for me right now. I have a fever.” Goddamnit, of all illnesses to fake, he had to go with the body producing too much heat. Still, he walked out, keeping his temper under control until he was just outside their view and could finally slip out of this idiotic persona. Maybe he’d stay home for the rest of the week. He sure as hell wasn’t singing. Even disregarding his desires, Susie seemed like a nice girl and it would probably ruin Susie’s reputation.

“And if anyone thinks there will be any trouble meeting the deadline, arrange to meet in my office,” “Joey” finished. Of course, they all would. And then Henry could test them further.

One person even took him up on the offer that day: “Sammy,” who had asked to meet him in his last available time slot that day.

When “Sammy” entered, he closed the door and smiled as though he’d barricaded them in. Henry’s pulse quickened.

“Alright, I’ll make this quick. I’m not here about the deadline, and I’m not here to figure out your identity, either. In fact, I’ll tell you mine if you can do one little thing for me.” Sammy walked over and sat on Joey desk.

Henry was flustered. “What? What do you want?”

“Take me to “your” home. I know “you” have secrets you’re hiding.”

Henry had some ideas, but didn’t feel sure of a single identity yet. He needed that identity to stay alive. “Sure,” he answered.

“Sammy” smiled. “Wonderful. But no identity until I’m satisfied, understood?” Allison leaned over and stroked “Joey” under the chin. She loved this. She was getting high on this. Getting the upper hand on Joey, flustering him by letting her seductive side out to play, and getting to learn his secrets? Impulsive and stupid this might be, but she must have been dreaming.

“Please don’t touch me,” Henry said, brushing her hand away. “I suppose we can leave now, since you’re the last one I’m meeting with.”

They set off. On the way there, Allison was tempted to make fun of Joey’s limp, as she’d wanted to do for ages. She figured she ought to dial back the meanness, though. As fun as this was, this wasn’t actually Joey. For all she knew, she could have been bullying Jack, or Susie, or Tom. Yes, from then on, she’d be kind to “Joey.”

Joey lived in the penthouse of one of the apartment buildings downtown, and surprisingly enough, Henry hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary there. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been looking, let alone hunting like “Sammy” was. The first thing he did was to go through every room, quickly checking every door until he came upon one that was locked. “Your keys,” she demanded, putting out her hand for them. Henry handed them over. After every key had been  
tried, “Sammy” handed them back and immediately marched to Joey’s bedroom and began going through the drawers.

“Uh… can you have a little respect for his privacy?” Henry requested.

“Sorry. Not until I have a key.”

Resigned, Henry obeyed his aching legs and sat down on the bed as “Sammy” continued to turn the room inside out.

“Aha! This drawer has a false bottom! Lemme just unscrew this, and…”

How on earth was Henry going to explain to Joey why his furniture was dismantled? He was pretty sure that “Sammy” had either lost it or was up to something, but he was too tired to stop him.

Allison lifted up the plank, which had been held in place by a single screw. It was a lighter colour than the rest of the desk, and underneath it was a bottom that matched the rest of it. Slowly, she turned the board over to reveal exactly what she’d hoped for: a taped-on key.

The key fit the lock perfectly. What was on the other side of that door was enough that she was almost scared to go in alone. “Joey, you need to come see this!” she called before entering.

The room was about the size of a guest bedroom, and in fact did have a bed shoved into a corner, with a lamp and a few other items of furniture piled onto it. In the other corner, the carpet had been pulled back almost halfway across the room to reveal concrete floor with three pentagrams drawn on it and a few smaller symbols in between them. There was a bookshelf as well, halfway filled with big, black, unlabelled books. The other half of it was occupied by jars, containing dried plants, unidentifiable red and black fluids, and other items that Allison couldn’t identify. On a nearby desk was a cage filled with at least a dozen live rats, many of which were currently feeding on a dead rat. The desk also contained several more jars of indeterminate contents, and a diary with the words “ritual log,” written on the front in Joey’s extravagant handwriting.

“Oh, Joey, what have you been doing…?” “Joey’s” voice came from behind her.

“Sure you don’t want to back out now?” Allison asked, eyes trained forwards. This was more than she ever dreamed of finding.

“No.” Henry said. The note hadn’t said anything about pets, or, as the rats seemed to be, specimens. Henry had heard them squeak, but he’d just assumed that the place had a pest problem. Whatever Joey was hiding, he was willing to let them go without care for a week to keep it hidden.

“Alright. Then let’s find out,” Allison said, making a beeline for the ritual log. “Interesting. It seems like he uses the same spell every day or two.”

“Which one?” Henry asked, but Allison was engrossed, flipping back, looking for a specific date. When she got to it, well, its entry didn’t shock her, but it was upsetting. And it needed to be shared.

“I’m taking this home,” Allison stated, and made her way to the door.

“Sammy, I can’t let you do that! I don’t even know who you are!”

“Are you strong enough to stop me?” Allison nearly snapped, attempting to push her way past him. As it turned out, he was. Barely.

“Can’t you just tell me what this is about?”

“No. I don’t know who you are.”

“It seems to me that this is more important than that. I’m Henry Stein. And you are?”

“Susie Campbell,” Allison replied. Allison had planned on saying that since the walk over. This way, she was not only protecting herself, but as a bonus, she was protecting Susie, should Henry try to find her. Plus, after the fool she’d made of herself in his office, well, no one else would have been believable.

“Can I see the book now?” Henry asked.

Allison opened it to the proper page.

_April 20th, 1941._

_Ritual: creation of ink creature (soul in forefront, failure)_

_Details: Sammy Lawrence and I had Susie Campbell meet us in the studio after hours. She had consented beforehand and is a skilled actress, so instead of burying her soul under the essence of a cartoon character like in previous rituals like this, I decided to let her essentially be an ink-skin actress. We used chloroform to get her unconscious and began the ritual in book 3, page 219. However, she woke up before we could complete the ritual as Sammy and I wasted too much time arguing. (Note: next time make much stronger chloroform. Susie is very light, and even she wasn’t out very long.) We had already begun the chant and could not stop until the ritual was complete, so we had to slit her throat while she was awake._

_There were further complications when a bit of film was twisted in the machine, and Susie came out as a nondescript ink blob. Her level of consciousness in this form is unclear. I think that the trapped demon in the machine must have had its will entirely extinguished at this point- if it were still conscious, it might have asked what I wanted when the reel made it unclear. It’s just a cog in the machine now, just as planned._

Allison turned the page.

_April 20th, 1941._

_Ritual: creation of an ink creature (soul in forefront, success.)_

_After I had fixed the film reel, we repeated the ritual described on the last page. She emerged from the ink machine a perfect Alice Angel, and physically unharmed. Her corpse was embalmed and then disposed of in the sewer. This was highly successful: she should be doing shows within a matter of days. Unfortunately, I cannot foresee anyone else consenting to this ritual, so I will have to continue with the older variant of the spell._

“Oh my God,” was all Henry could think to say. “I mean, I knew he’d killed-“ his eyes fell on “Sammy” with absolute pity for a moment, then fell to the ground, “but I didn’t know that he was killing people who hadn’t agreed to it. The way he’s writing, you’re not the first or the last.”

“You see? We have to turn this in.” Allison forced a tearful tone into her voice, as Susie might have if she were reading about her murder. “We have to give it to the police.”

“Absolutely. But… can we do it at the end of the week? I mean, if they arrest me, I’m going to die. I need to find at least one more identity. But I promise, I’ll hand him over, Susie.”

“Thank you,” she croaked before turning to leave.

“Oh, uh, one more thing-“

“Yes?”

Henry gently stroked Susie’s arm. “This is only if it won’t be emotionally hard for you. But since you’re in Sammy’s body, could you bring me that picture of your dead body? You know, as evidence?”

“Of course,” Allison said. She was happy to get out of there. To think that just a couple hours ago, she’d been engrossed the mystery of all of the secrets that she’d just sensed beneath Joey’s skin. But none of it was worth it. Not if it required hurting people. But… what if not all of those spells did require hurting people? What if there were some simpler, less violent, but still fantastic spells that she’d just missed her chance at finding? She tried to block out the thought, and the hunger it aroused in her. It was a struggle, at least she had her special revenge plan for Sammy to look forward to.

Henry stayed in Joey’s dungeon for quite a while after “Sammy” had left. The first thing he did was to look for a specific date in the book: the day that he and the others had been forced to watch the memories. He found it:

_March 24th, 1941._

_Ritual: summoning of a benevolent demon. ~~(failed disastrously)~~ ( ~~success?~~ ) (status unknown)_

_I used the spell found in book five, page 34. According to it, a benevolent demon is easier to control than a malicious one, but can only fulfill tasks that don’t require hurting others. Their purpose is apparently to be a more approachable lure into the occult than malicious demons- a gateway drug of sorts. They are not in any way actually benevolent. The demon appeared as a small, purple blob. Thinking up a task for him was difficult, as I am well on my way to having most of what I could want through my own doing. I thought of having it make Bendy cartoons more popular, but that seemed too big and risky. Perhaps when I have had more experience with benevolent demons. I asked him to reignite my friendship with Henry. (It’s not as though he could have made it worse, so it was relatively riskless.) It nodded, then squeezed through this tiny scratch in the pentagram that was meant to contain it, and disappeared. It escaped before I could bind it to me. I can only hope that it leaves me alone, now. It was supposed to just be a trial._

_Update: I think it did what I asked. Maybe I did bind it to me? I hope so- that would mean it’s back in Hell._

Henry put down the book, feeling exhausted. He should have felt shocked. He should have felt… well, anything. But it was as though that part of him was used up.

He got up and performed that one spell that Joey was apparently performing every other day. It was a strength spell, and it involved spilling a few drops of his own blood on a rune drawn onto the floor. Henry could feel strength return to his legs, and a fair amount of energy flow into him. So, Joey was sick, and self-medicating with satanic magic. Why not?

Apparently, it hadn’t been a mistake that the rats had been eating a dead rat: that was a planned part of their diet, and many were being kept preserved in a jar. Henry dropped another one in along with some rat food.

Henry just wanted to go to bed after that. His body felt so… wrong. Foreign. He didn’t even want to think about Joey, and he was seeing him every time he looked down at his own, scarred hands.

Maybe he’d feel better once the lights were out.

Henry didn’t sleep at all that night. His mind was too full, mostly of the thought that the whole reason he was back in New York was because of a trick pulled by a demon. Henry had had to fight Linda to get her to agree to moving back to here. The kids were already settled in with their current school, the whole family had friends in Florida, Henry had a good job, and so on. She’d accused him of a mental breakdown for wanting to leave that all behind to work with Joey Drew. But that was after he’d seen those memories that he and Joey had shared, and how he’d almost needed him back then. That was after he and Joey had had their talk, and had offered to make him the co-owner of Joey Drew Studios. “We could even change its name!” he’d said. Most importantly, he’d promised that this time would be different.

Had it been different? Well, Henry wasn’t being overworked like he had been in the 30s, and he wasn’t hearing as many complaints about Joey anymore (Though that was partially because he was the head of a company with hundreds of employees, not the two dozen they’d had in the beginning, he figured). He hadn’t been given any actual management tasks yet, but Henry had only been there for a couple weeks and wasn’t in any rush with that anyhow. He might’ve pressed the issue if it had gone on much longer. Their relationship was also a lot more equal now that Henry was older and more self-assured. And yet, his first thought when doing a Joey impression had been to make an idiotic, selfish, unreasonable decision with a big smile on his face.

Had things really changed? Well, now he supposed it didn’t matter. At the end of the week, he’d take the evidence to the police, and try to keep his own thoughts away from the question.

He hoped that whoever was in his body was doing well by Linda. After all he’d put her through by moving here, their relationship definitely didn’t need more weirdness. She probably really did think he was breaking down right now, unless whoever was playing the role was doing an incredible job of it. Five days. Five days, and hopefully he’d be able to patch things up with her. Hopefully he’d at least get the chance.


	3. To Act in Your Stead

Susie looked up at the ink pipes she’d installed. A child would have been able to tell where the professionally-installed pipes ended and hers began. They were crooked, going up and down like a zigzag at every joint. As a result, a few of them leaking slightly. Hopefully, they were easily fixed and she was doing more than wasting a week or more of Tom’s work schedule. Hopefully, they’d stay together for another four days. She’d reduced the ink pressure to make that a little more likely, at least. “Hey, Tom! Get over here!” An irritable voice came from behind her.

It was Sammy. Tom hated Sammy, so she rolled her eyes and gave him a sharp look. “What?”

“Come with me to my office!”

Susie nodded submissively. Normally she would have been intimidated, but she was beginning to see why Tom wouldn’t have been. Sammy looked tiny compared to her now, and wasn’t scary in the least even as he was stomping and angry like this.

Once the two of them were in Sammy’s office and the door was closed, Sammy uncurled his fists and stopped looking so angry. “Sorry about that,” he said. “So… without giving too much away, I’m a person who knows a thing or two about mechanics, and it looked like you needed help. Can I help you?”

Susie tried not to look too happy. This was a godsend. “Yes, that would be nice.”

“Excellent. So, obviously I can’t just go on out there and start getting my hands dirty, but I could tell you what you’re doing wrong. First, are you cutting the pipes?”

“They need to be cut?”

Allison had no idea, but suspected they didn’t. “Of course. If they’re the wrong length, they’ll all be crooked, and they’ll wear out in a matter of weeks.”

“What do I cut them with?”

“An electric hand saw. Do you have one at home?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of tools in the garage. Some looked electric. One might be a handsaw.”

“Well, I’m sure that there’s something there that we can use to cut pipes. If you want me to come over, I could show you how to use it.”

“Sounds good, thank you. I’ll come find you at six,” Susie deadpanned. Once she left and immediately found a quiet place where she could let her happiness out. Thank goodness, now she’d be able to actually do this properly! Unfortunately, whoever “Sammy” was hadn’t dropped any hints, though. The kindness sheer lack of emotionality suggested Henry, but the mechanical knowledge suggested Thomas. It must have been Lacie. She seemed like she had the capacity for both.

That evening, “Thomas” took Allison back to her and Tom’s house. Allison knew where the handsaw was, but she pretended to search the shelves until “Thomas” fished it out of the drawer.

“Okay,” Allison said, setting a board up on the sawhorse, “Let’s practice with some wooden boards before moving on to pipes. So, you’ll want to have it on a solid surface when you turn it on, like this.” She pressed a button on it and it came to life. “Want me to demonstrate how to cut a board?”

“I’d love that,” “Thomas” said, still in his gravelly voice. He wasn’t giving away any hints. Well, reaction to fear might end up being a giveaway.

Allison transferred the saw to her left hand and held the board with her right. “Alright. Just like this.” She began cutting, spraying sawdust and making that horrible saw noise. She was so uncoordinated with her left hand that she wasn’t sure she could pull this off.

Susie watched, disturbed that Sammy was cutting towards his hand. But, he probably knew what he was doing. Once it got close enough, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Sammy, move your hand!”

“What? I always-“ and then it happened. The handsaw was spraying blood, and her hand was being cut between the thumb and index finger. It was no small feat of willpower to force the blade a little further before turning it off. Allison was screaming. Susie was screaming. She ran into the house.

“Sammy!” she called “Get the first aid kit!” Oh, this was too good. Allison had noticed how irritable “Allison” had been, and she’d suspected that a lot of people were switched in pairs, but now she had confirmation.

“Thomas” and “Allison” came back into the garage. The look on “Allison’s” face was utterly priceless as he caught sight of the mess of his hand. “What have you done?!” he yelled. “How will you play instruments like that?!”

At this point, Allison realized that she hadn’t actually looked at the damages yet. They were bad. The blood running down it and squirting from some ruptured artery she’d been able to feel, but the sawdust trapped inside of it- well, that was a bonus. It would probably get infected. The cut was long and deep, too. He was lucky that all the fingers were still attached. She was lucky it was throbbing so hard, or she would have had trouble hiding her satisfaction.

Twenty minutes later, Allison’s wound had been washed and bandaged, and the look of terror still hadn’t fully left Sammy’s face. He couldn’t express anger at her without revealing himself, of course, but Allison could sense it in him. When he looked at her, she could just see him silently yelling out the question: “who are you? Why did you do this to me?!”

—-

Aside from Allison’s revenge, the only notable thing that had happened on Wednesday was that “Joey” had proposed to “Henry” that they gather the players at his house a few hours before seven, so that none of them would be doing anything dangerous when it happened. This served several purposes. For one, it would allow Henry to see his kids, maybe for the last time. For another, it would give him an opportunity to drop off evidence at his house. He’d bring it in champagne boxes and slip them into his room when no one was watching. Joey was happy with the arrangement as well: he had several hunches but was only certain of three identities at the moment, and packing everyone into a closed space where they’d be all but forced to interact seemed like a great way to figure some out. He was getting a little desperate, and he wasn’t the only one.

Come Thursday morning, Bertrum was running out of time and he knew it. Not survival-wise, of course: decades in the public eye had left him with some excellent people-reading skills, and he had fair guesses on at least three or four identities. He was also quite the actor, and, since he had no idea what Jack Fain was like, had been pretending to be a different person every day that week to throw anyone off his trail. Yes, survival-wise, he was doing great. But he still hadn’t caught a single glimpse of himself, and the meeting was tonight. And so, Bertrum was standing at the only entrance to Joey Drew Studios in wait.

Finally, “Bertrum” came in, and “Jack” didn’t hesitate to stop him. “Can I speak with you?”

“Oh, uh, sure. I’m in no particular rush.” Whoever this was, they were putting no effort at all into being the Great Bertrum Piedmont, aside from a poorly faked deep, British voice. But now wasn’t the time to be guessing identities.

“This will take all day.”

“Oh, okay. Well, first I need to go check on the Bendyland employees, and have an in-depth meeting with Lacie. Can I meet you back here later?”

Bertrum supposed he could use an opportunity to see what he had to work with. “I’ll come with you,” he insisted.

“Well, okay,” Jack replied, chirpy but a bit nervous. Jack was not a good actor, and he knew it. He definitely didn’t think that he could project Bertrum Piedmont-levels of bravado and confidence. His strategy had basically been been to avoid everyone except for Lacie, whose identity he hadn’t figured out yet, but that’s what the meeting was for. Well, now it seemed like he’d have to act the best he could for whoever was inhabiting his body.

The two arrived at Bendyland, where three Bendyland employees were slacking off, playing the target shooting game. Lacie was one of them. Jack cupped his hands together. “Hey!” he snapped, trying to get their attention. Was that a Bertrum-like way to get attention? He didn’t know, and with whoever was in his body breathing down his neck, he was getting really nervous. If they heard him, they didn’t listen, so he walked up to them. _Even the way he walks is self-effacing,_ Bertrum thought to himself, almost offended at this… parody of himself. “Hey,” Jack said, quieter now that he was closer to them. The Bendyland workers finally looked up from their game to him.

“What?” One of them asked casually. All three of them were grinning, the two non-players wondering if Alzheimer’s had caught up to their boss and made him go soft.

“Are you, uh, fellows doing your quota of work?” There was no anger or accusation in his voice.

“Yeah.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” Jack truthfully had no idea what he was supposed to do. He’d designed some attractions and checked on the employees every day. That seemed like the right thing to do, or at least, the closest he could figure out.

“Nope, we’re good.” Bertrum could tell that they had barely done a thing. The crates of decor that they were supposed to put up this week were sitting next to the game, most not even opened.

“Okay, then. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

Jack turned around and stumbled over an ink pipe on the floor, which made the Bendyland workers laugh. Bertrum couldn’t take it any longer. “That’s enough! You do not laugh at the great Bertrum Piedmont! Now get to work before he comes to his senses!”

The workers froze, then frantically went over to one of the crates and began decorating.

“Now you’re coming with me,” Bertrum said to Jack.

“Uh, sure. Hey, Lacie? I’ll come find you when I’m ready, okay?”

Lacie shrugged, not looking away from her work. “Sure.”

As soon as Jack and Bertrum were out of the studio, Bertrum spoke up. “Alright. No need for fancy introductions. I am the great Bertrum Piedmont, and I happen to have a very important meeting tonight. A meeting with the great Clifford Clines, CEO of Cedar Springs Entertainment. He’s considering me as the creator of his brand’s first theme park. Do you know how long it takes to create a theme park? If he wants an especially large park- and I assure you, he will- this could be the project that my son takes over for me once I retire or- or retire. This could be the first project in the next stage of the Colossal Wonders legacy! But that’s only if I can whip you into shape. Stand up straight. Puff your chest out. Stop holding yourself like you’re halfway apologizing for your existence. For the next four days, you’re pretending to be someone whose presence is a gift. Now, who are you?”

Jack had been obeying him, but he couldn’t answer that. “Sorry, I want to live. I can’t-"

“No. I mean, _who are you?_ ”

“Bertrum Piedmont.”

“Say it like you’ve been him all your life!”

“I am the great Bertrum Piedmont!”

“Good! Yes! Or at least, I’ll teach you to be him!”

That afternoon, as Bertrum taught Jack how to behave at his meeting, it finally came time for ink to be run through the ink pipes that “Thomas” had installed. Susie really wasn’t sure about this. She’d been too afraid to call and ask about cutting the pipes because of how obvious a question it probably was. Of course she shouldn’t cut the pipes- who would think of such a thing? And she had some serious doubts about the purity of “Sammy’s” intentions. But by deciding to ignore his advice, she was stuck with those crooked, zigzag pipes.

After she put the last pipe in, she looked back to see if “Henry” was still watching her. He was. Alright, no hesitation, then. She walked over, threw the switch all the way instead of inching up the pressure. Not fifteen seconds later, the resulting cacophony made her duck for cover on instinct. Pipes clattered to the ground, struck her, or shot at the walls. Ink was spraying everywhere. And “Henry” was still standing there with an expressionless look on his face. Not even Norman was this creepy! What would Thomas do in this situation? _Don’t cry. Don’t freak out. Don’t cry. Do something you idiot! Turn off the ink pressure._ That’s what Susie did, before making her way to the music department, where five of the players would be. As she passed it by, she also noticed that the ink machine was making some very concerning clunking and creaking noises.

Right in the middle of a recording, an ink-covered and very distressed-looking Thomas Connor burst into the the recording studio. “I need some backup,” he said, trying not to sound distressed “I can’t handle the ink machine anymore and I need someone who does to help me. “Jack” and “Alice” weren’t even there, so there wasn’t a great chance that anyone there would even be able to help. “Norman” quietly slipped out.

Lacie knew that she couldn’t help with this without narrowing down everyone’s quarry when it came to her, so she went off to find herself. There she was, decorating a Bendyland game booth. “Hey, Lacie. Come with me. Bring your tool kit.”

“Why?.”

"Trust me."

As they made their way from the the Bendyland department, Lacie explained the plan. “Alright. Now, I have some hidden depths. My father was a mechanic. And right now, things need fixing. So I need you to pretend to be the one fixing them. I’ll quietly follow you at a distance and do the actual fixing, alright? First thing’s first, go to the recording studio and ask Thomas where the problem is.”

Shawn agreed to it, and Lacie fell behind him, walking softly as though she were stalking him.

When they got back to the music department, “Thomas” was on the phone with GENT. “What do you mean, ‘I’m the only one who knows how to maintenance the ink machine'? That can’t be right.”

Shawn grabbed “Thomas” by the shoulder. “Hey. You show me where the problem is, I’ll fix it.”

As Lacie followed the two to the scene of the disaster, all she could think of was two things: first, “Lacie” must have known her pretty well, because he was doing one hell of an acting job. Secondly, his voice sounded off. Suppressing an accent, maybe? Both pointed to the same two identities: Shawn and Bertrum. She’d figured out who the other music department players were aside from Alice, but she could always use another layer of protection, and with how different Shawn and Bertrum were, chances were she was going to get one.

“Right here,” “Thomas” said once they arrived at the location. “And please, check on the ink machine, too. I don’t think I’m maintaining it properly. I can’t thank you enough.” Lacie had to hide around a corner from “Thomas” and “Lacie” until “Thomas” split from them.

As soon as Lacie saw the mess of the hallway, she knew that there wasn’t much to be done about it. For some pipes it would have just been a simple matter of adjusting, but others had been twisted from all that pressure, and almost half of them had fallen straight off the wall. It would take easily a day to fix, and the projectionist couldn’t just disappear for that long. “Yep. Let’s go to the ink machine,” Lacie declared.

After turning the ink machine off and opening it up, the problem became obvious: the gears were too clogged with thick ink to turn properly. As a result, the machine was overheating to the point where it almost burned to touch. “You’re gonna have to have to handle this one, Lacie. It would be awfully hard to explain why the projectionist has this kind of ink on their hands.”

“Lacie” made a face, but nonetheless got in there with his hands and started shoveling out the hot sludge.

“Oh yeah. One more thing,” Lacie said before stomping down on Shawn’s foot.

“Eejit! Mo fecken chos!” Shawn screamed before realizing that he’d outed himself and turning redder than a beet.

“Hi, Shawn. You do one hell of an impression.”

“Ah, well, I’ve figured you out, too, Lacie. I know you better than you know yerself.” he plucked, annoyed but playful and in full Irish accent. He threw a glob of ink at her, which she dodged.

She already knew three identities. Was the extra safety worth selling out Shawn?

Lacie laughed a little. “Well, I have to get back to my projector booth before someone gets suspicious. Come to me if the machine still isn't working after you get the sludge out. And meet me after work, alright?”

—-

“Another brandy, barkeep, if you please,” Bertrum called out across the way. If he was going to have a younger liver for the next little bit, he might as well use it. It was evening, and Bertrum had coached his little body snatcher on everything there was to know about being the Great Bertrum Piedmont. Through all that teaching, though, he’d seen enough of the man to figure out who he was.

It had been a hard week for Bertrum, not only because of the professional stress and mortal danger, but because everyone seemed to expect him to just go along with whatever they said. Like he had no desires of his own. It’s how non-players treated him. It’s how players tested and needled at him. And Bertrum had snapped at a few of them- hopefully not hard enough to give him away. But that kind of behaviour that they expected of him seemed to be exactly what came naturally to his student. It was Jack Fain. Self-effacing, kind-to-a-fault, laid-back, embarrassed-to-be-alive Jack Fain. And those upper crust business men were going to eat him alive.

“Barkeep! Another, please!” At least this body was good at handling liquor. He must have drank six of these things and he didn’t feel inebriated in the slightest. When would Jack get here?

Finally, Bertrum heard Jack’s voice, using a now much less fake-sounding accent. “Hey. Want some news?” Strange- he sounded fairly cheerful. Bertrum turned to him. He looked pretty pleased with himself and was holding an envelope. Bertrum allowed himself some hope.

“Go ahead.”

“You got it. He wants the biggest theme park the world’s ever seen!”

Bertrum nearly fell out of his seat. He snatched the letter out of Jack’s hands. It contained the date and location of what would be their first meeting to discuss the park. “I- well- thank you!” Bertrum stuttered. Maybe he wasn’t handling the liquor as well as he thought. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, sitting down.

“How have you been handling the game?” Bertrum asked friendily.

Jack grimaced. “Yours is the only identity I’ve figured out.. But I don’t think anyone’s guessed me, so I think I’m alright. I just need to keep a low profile, and that shouldn’t be hard, aside from Henry’s party.”

Bertrum knew that if Jack played like that, he was surely dead. He put on his gentlest voice and said, “Actually, I think I’ve figured out who you are. Are you Jack Fain?”

There was fear in Jack’s eyes for a moment, but he quickly forced it out of them. “No. You’re wrong.” He got up and left, stopping a moment to look back. If he hadn’t said that, he could have asked how his family was. But it was too late for that. In that moment it sunk in that he needed to find another identity if he ever wanted to see them again.

Bertrum got up to chase after Jack, and tell him one of the identities he’d figured out so that he would be safe. After Jack had nailed the meeting, he deserved that much. But Bertrum fell over almost immediately- his legs were just too unsteady from booze.


	4. Thieves' Gambit

Henry Stein slid the tape recorder onto the top shelf of the break room and pressed record, as he’d done with another five tape recorders he’d hidden around the room. While he was glad that he’d soon be back in his own body, he was thanking his lucky stars for the power that came with the one he currently inhabited. As Joey Drew, he could make the employees do whatever he needed them to do in order to get more information out of them. Like now.

The twelve body-swapped employees filed in a few minutes later and sat down in the chairs that Henry had set up.

“You’re probably wondering what I brought you all here for,” Henry announced in his best dramatic, upbeat voice. “Well, I’m here to give you the whole afternoon off! The only thing that I need you to do first is fill out a little survey for me. You’ll all have to stay in this room for thirty minutes. I don’t want any of you give incomplete answers just so you can leave early! Understood?” Henry’s speech was replied with a chorus of nods, and so Henry passed out the surveys and headed for the door. Before leaving he paused to wonder if Joey would have stayed longer to watch them. Henry supposed it didn’t matter. This whole scenario was already pretty weird, and between the surveys and the tape, and everything else that he’d done to secure information that week, Henry felt entirely confident that he was going to live even if he did a mediocre job at selling his role.

Everyone in the room was done their survey within less than fifteen minutes. Most just sat, still and expressionless, after they were done. It was easier than acting. Some, however, were on the hunt for answers.

Norman Polk, in the body of Shawn Flynn, ran up to Wally Franks (or rather, whoever was piloting him) and exclaimed, “Hey, Wally, my boy! Let’s do something crazy after we get out of here!” He didn’t bother to try and fake an Irish accent. No one but Shawn had one, so not having one wouldn’t have narrowed down anyone’s quarry at all. He was, however, ratcheting up the speed, pitch and volume of his normally deep, heavy voice.

Grant, who was currently piloting Wally’s body, just wanted to go home and pass out. He’d already taken a sick day the day before because, as a person who barely had the energy to make it through the day as was, doing so while analyzing every action he and the other players made, and while pretending to be a bundle of zany energy and incompetence was all but impossible. Soon, he promised himself, summoning the all the vigor he could to act like the boundless ball of energy he was inhabiting. “Oh, boy! I love me something crazy! What exactly are we gonna do?”

“Gee, I don’t know Wally. You’re my idea man, why don’t you come up with somethin’?”

Grant had no time to think. “Let’s roll down the biggest set of stairs we can find in a garbage can!” _Of all things to come out of my mouth, it just had to be that,_ he snapped at himself. But, surely whoever was piloting Shawn would have the sense to shut it down.

“Now we’re talking! I know just the place!”

“Yeah! And, uh, so do I!”

“Let’s ride down every damn staircase in New York! We’ve got nothing but time!”

From the corner, Lacie was resisting the urge to fall over laughing. These two men were looking at each other with these big, pained, ridiculous smiles, curled fists and nervous looks in their eyes, and had devolved into chattering about absolutely nothing, probably because they figured that Wally and Shawn wouldn’t have just let the conversation die down. “Someone’s overselling your role,” she whispered teasingly to Shawn. Shawn was in her body, so he was allowed to laugh, a luxury she, in Norman’s body, sadly did not possess.

Shawn began scribbling on a piece of paper. To anyone else, Shawn would have had to actually speak, producing a painful-sounding attempt at an American accent. Not to Lacie, though. After finding each other the day before, the two had agreed to a thieves’ gambit- neither would guess the other when the time arrived. They’d decided that Bertrum and Wally would be a part of the thieves’ gambit as well, if they ever found them.

Shawn handed Lacie the scrap of paper. _Looks like he’s not the only one overselling it,_ it read. Shawn, a goofy smile on his face, pointed at a despondent-looking Grant Cohen who was sitting huddled in the corner. Lacie watched as the little man brushed tears from his eyes. _That doesn’t look like acting,_ Lacie wrote. _I’m going to go see if that’s one of the thieves’ gambit._

All in all, Lacie was fairly indifferent to Norman Polk. Barely knew a thing about him, which made playing him pretty difficult. But Grant had spoken at length about their friendship while the two of them (plus Shawn) were out drinking, so it was clear to her that being friendly to him was perfectly in character.

“Hey. Everything alright?” she asked.

“Grant,” who was really Wally Franks, stopped crying momentarily and looked over to “Norman” and “Lacie.” Wally generally found those two intimidating, but right now even _their_ company was more than welcome. “Oh, yes,” Wally answered, trying to put the appropriate pretentious air into his tearful voice. “Joey is overspending again, what else is new? Don’t worry about me, I just want to be alone awhile.”

“Fair enough,” “Norman” replied. She didn’t see any way to pry the truth out of him. They turned to go back to their own corner of the room.

Wally felt like a starving man who had just shoved a plate of food into a trash compactor. And for what? He was dead no matter how well he sold his role, and he knew it. “Wait,” he called after them as he met them in the center of the room, not even trying to hide his real voice anymore. “Can I tell you what’s really botherin’ me?”

“Yes, go ahead!” “Norman” said.

“I don’t know how well I’m playin’ this role, and I still don’t know who anyone is, and I’m sure the opposite isn’t true, and I’m just tryin’ to accept that I’m gonna die and I won’t even be able ta say goodbye to anyone and I really needed to talk to someone but I know he wouldn’ta done that, and I-” Wally started sobbing. He felt like everyone could see who he was now. He might as well give every clue of it away. “I’m worried about my dogs. I don’t know if Norman’s eatin’ em or Joey’s sacrificin’ em to the Gods or what. I just wanna see my dogs, make sure they’re okay!”

Shawn looked awkwardly over to Lacie. It was pretty obvious that this was Wally, but he wasn’t about to let anyone into the thieves’ gambit without her consent. Lacie gave Shawn a little nod of permission, and Shawn put an arm around his crying friend. “Hey. Stick with us after they let us out of here, alright? We’re here for you.”

“Okay,” Wally choked out.

A few minutes later, everyone was allowed out. Shawn led the way, and the trio followed “Shawn” and “Wally.” Shawn tapped “Shawn” on the shoulder to get his attention, then put on his best annoyed-but-playful Lacie voice. “Hey, dumbass. You forgot to lock up the storage closet.” The strain to hide his accent aside, he was doing one hell of an impression.

“Oh no. I don’t know about any storage closet. Can you help me?”

“Of course. I’ll cover for ya, buddy. Just hand me the key.”

“Thank you,” “Shawn” said. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a key ring. Shawn grabbed it and quickly removed a small, round key before handing it back.

“I’ll get it back to you at Henry’s party on Sunday, alright?”

“Yeah, perfect! Thanks Lacie!” “Shawn” beamed before turning to go.

The second the three were a safe distance from the studio, Shawn spoke up in full Irish accent. “Wally my boy, do you know what just happened?”

Wally’s eyes lit up as he realized the identity of his cohort. “Shawn!”

“That’s right, my laddie! And your favourite dogsitter just nabbed the spare key to your apartment from his own body! I can’t solve all yer problems, but hey, at least we can see your dogs while “you” are busy rolling down stairs with “me”.”

Speechless, Wally squeezed the life out of Shawn. On the walk over, Lacie explained the thieves’ gambit to him. It didn’t encourage him any about his chances of living, but it still felt nice to have two people he didn’t have to act for.

—

Norman was good at this game, owing mostly to his ability to read people like a book. He’d already guessed the identity of seven players of the game, and he would have guessed “Wally’s” identity as well, if he hadn’t been trying to handle some harder cases first, and if “Wally” hadn’t been absent from work the day before. Even then, there were only so many people he could be, and Norman had narrowed it down to four potential candidates: Susie, Grant, Thomas, and Lacie. This trial they were marching towards (lord knows what staircase “Wally” was leading him to) would make a perfect test. Susie and Grant, Norman knew, were both fairly nervous people, and they both had their nervous ticks. Susie tended to play with her hair, and Grant preferred torturing his hands. Put “Wally” in between physical danger and acting out of character, and all it would take is a little observation.

Finally, they arrived at a steep set of stairs on the edge of a hill. The steps looked to descend at least a good fifteen feet, and Norman could see “Wally” wringing his hands at the sight of it. He’d already suspected it was Grant- had the same shifty eyes and the same manner of walking- but now he was fairly sure of it. For the sake of the act, though, the two fetched an empty trash can from an alleyway. At very least, Norman had convinced “Wally” to go first.

“Can I do the hill first?” “Wally” asked, looking back at Norman with a big, obviously fake smile.

“Sure, if you wanna be a coward!” He yelled without thinking. Another talent of Norman’s was entering another person when he was acting. In this moment, he was Shawn Flynn, and his unthinking instinct was to act like Shawn Flynn.

“Wally” mumbled an okay, climbed into the filthy trash can while trying to hide his hesitation, and tried to wrack up the courage to roll himself down the stairs. _This is ridiculous,_ was all he had time to think before he felt a push against the side of the can and he was tumbling down, watching the world spin and praying for his physical safety.

Thankfully, Grant emerged from the can unhurt except for some bruises and started making his way up the stairs to hand the can over to “Shawn” for his turn.

“Woo! That was amazin’! Sorry, but I’ll have to head home and walk the dogs after this. But first, I wanna see you go!”

“Wally’s” eyes trained on Norman as he handed him the trash can. Was he actually going to do this? Hurt someone else’s body to perform for one person? Heck, was he really going to increase his best friend’s chances of dying at the end of the week? He already had so many identities figured out, so how much extra protection would that even give him?

Norman tossed the garbage can aside. “Grant, this is stupid. We got through the workweek, let’s just stop acting already. This is Norman talking.”

Within about five seconds, Grant’s face phased through shock and anger before landing on relief. “Well, I admire your courage,” he replied, a snarky tone in his voice. “Next time though, maybe find it _before_ making me crawl into a musty trash can and pushing me down the stairs?”

Norman chuckled. “Well, it was your idea.”

“Here’s a better idea. Let’s go back to my place, have some coffee, and play some cards. It’s been a week.”

“Good plan. It _has_ been a week,” Norman replied.

—

Lacie, Norman and Wally had made their way to Wally’s apartment. Lacie went ahead to knock first, just in case “Wally” had changed his mind and come home. The coast was clear.

The second Wally was through the door, he was kneeling on the floor as a golden retriever bounded towards him. “Goldie!” he shouted in delight. After Goldie came a Jack Russell Terrier. “Clover! Oh, who’s a good girl?” two little white and black chihuahuas followed. “Oh, and it’s the twins!” Wally scratched each of their sides, both as sign of affection and because it was the easiest way to make sure they were being adequately fed. They all seemed as healthy as were happy to see them. “I think they recognize me!” Wally chirped. Then Goldie tried jumping into Wally’s arms and ended up bowling him onto the floor, where he was helpless to the licking of his four dogs. Wally was laughing. “Guess she doesn’t see how much smaller I am now!”

Just then, the door creaked open again, and “Wally” and “Shawn” stepped in.

“What is going on here?” “Wally” asked calmly.

“Uh…” Wally sat up, realizing that he had absolutely no idea what to say. “Well, you’ve probably already guessed who I am, so I guess I’ll tell the truth. I wanted to see my dogs, and Shawn is my number one dogsitter, so I had him-”

“Lacie” face-palmed. So much for staying hidden.

“Uh, sorry. I had Shawn get the spare key to my apartment. That’s what happened. So, uh, thanks for looking after my dogs. We’ll just be going, I guess.”

“Hold it,” Shawn said. “Have you all ever heard of a thieves’ gambit?” Shawn knew it was a long-shot, but this could be his only chance to save Wally’s life.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’m not familiar with it,” Norman replied.

“Care to explain it, Lacie?”

Lacie did explain it. “Imagine that two thieves are brought in for questioning. The police separate em’ and tell em’, ‘we’ll give you half the usual sentence, but only if you admit to being a thief, and tell us who your partner is.’ Now, obviously, the thieves shouldn’t tell. But that’s only true if they can be sure the other person is trustworthy.”

“Interesting,” “Wally” said, “But what does that have to do with us?”

Shawn spoke up. “The three of us are in a thieves’ gambit. We know each other’s identity and we aren’t selling each other out. It’s in all of our best interest if you join us.”

Lacie made a face. “Shawn, a thieves’ gambit needs _trust._ We don’t even know who they are. One of them could be Joey for all we know.”

“Well, if I can suggest something,” Grant said, “The goal of this game is to guess more people than we are guessed by. So, if we can’t trust each other not to guess each other, well, it’ll lead to the exact same result if we all collectively agree to share our identities and rat each other out when the time comes.”

“Now that I can trust,” Lacie said.

“Also, I have a list of nine identities I’ve figured out,” Norman added. “Let us into your thieves’ gambit, and I’ll share them.”

“Wait, eight?” Shawn exclaimed, looking to Wally with excitement in his eyes. “Wally, you’re going to live!” He turned back to face the others with a sharp, serious face. “We’ll all agree to rat each other out, sure. But nobody is ratting out Wally! There are eight people not in this room, and there’s nine names on that list. If Wally dies, I’ll know one of you ratted him out, and I’ll kick all three of your asses into next Tuesday, ya hear?”

“We hear,” Grant replied. Honestly, though, with Norman’s list, no one would have any reason not to listen to Shawn. They’d won. And with the workweek over, the bulk of their acting was done. That night, Grant and Wally even slept in their own homes. All they had to do was to get through “Henry’s” party on Sunday and they were going to _live_.


	5. Help

It was ten in the morning, and Henry once again was calling the Connor residence. It once again went to the answering machine, and he once again said the same thing he’d already recorded four times: “Allison, this is Joey. I know who you are and I need you to come over to my place immediately. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Henry hadn’t just let the players off early as an excuse to get them together in a room for fifteen minutes. He was also in a rush to get home and read every book on the occult on Joey’s shelf. If there was a way to defeat this demon who was toying with them, he would find it. It was the right thing to do. But after staying up all night pouring over spells that turned out to be irrelevant, Henry knew that he needed some experienced help if he was going to find anything. Would Sammy even be willing to help him? He hoped so.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. It was Allison. “I’m sorry. I came as quick as I could. What’s going on?”

“Sammy, I’m not going to play games. I know who you are, I know you and Joey practice satanism together, and I need your help. Earlier this week I figured out why we’re in this situation, and I want to find a way to let us all live. Are you with me?”

Sammy definitely wanted to help. But, he was also willing to look out for himself. “I’ll help if you can tell me two identities.”

Henry had all the identities, so he went with the people he figured were safest. “Norman is in Shawn’s body, and I’m Henry. Now let’s get started.”

“Okay. What have you figured out thus far?”

“Well, Joey has it written down that, on the same day that we were shown the memories, he summoned a benevolent demon to try and bring my friendship with him back.”

“So the rest of us were just excess packaging?”

“No. The demon got out through a crack in the pentagram before Joey could bind it to the task.”

Sammy’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. That was weeks ago…”

“Yes. And I think it brought the rest of us to watch the memories just so we could get to know each other and then entertain him with this game. Plus, it made Joey think he might have handled the ritual properly. But that’s irrelevant. Sammy, I’ve been looking for a spell to kill a demon all night.

“Well, there’s your first mistake. You can’t kill a demon. All you can do is bind him to a task. Once you do that, it has to go back to Hell once he’s done the task.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. How do I do it, Sammy?”

“I don’t know. I’m not an expert. Joey probably wouldn’t even know. Usually you would draw a containing pentagram within a summoning pentagram, and bind it before letting it go. But now, it’s going to be hard. The demon hides itself in the purple void, but I already know how to handle that. What we need to find is a spell to let you draw pentagrams within the void. A spiritual strength spell would probably be a good idea, too.”

“Okay. What’s needed for a spiritual strength spell?”

“I don’t know! I doubt Joey even knows. I just dabble in this stuff, Henry! It’s complicated. But anyhow. You should go down to the basement floor of Joey Drew Studios. In there, we keep this tool- a seeing tool- in a chest of drawers. It looks like a bit like a hand mirror and it will help you see the demon. Also, go get a vial of your blood blessed by a priest.”

“Get _what_ blessed by a priest?!”

“Uh, sorry, but this is Satanism. I don’t know how experienced you are with this stuff, but don’t be surprised if it gets a little nasty. Skip that. You’ll probably need it, but I should at least find the spell first. Just get the seeing tool. And some candles for the pentagram. I’ll sort through these books. I’m guessing the ones written by actual demons aren’t going to be very useful when it comes to learning how to recapture one. Then we can start looking for the right combination of spells. So, where does he keep those books he lends me?”

After showing Sammy to the ritual room (which even seemed to shock Sammy a little with just how deep into satanism Joey was), Henry did what he was told. Thankfully he’d already gathered up the evidence he needed, put it in a champagne box, and hidden the box in Joey’s closet. If Sammy suspected that Henry was going to hand Joey over, he’d probably do something to stop it. After all, he wasn’t innocent, either.

At this point, Henry thought that nothing could surprise him. A cold apprehension gripped him as he rode the Joey Drew Studios elevator down to its lowest floor, but no real fear. He unlocked the metal door to reveal an area that felt half like a factory, half like a cathedral. Gears and various mechanical parts were chugging along, and everything, including the floors and walls, were made from metal that looked quite recently installed. The walls were lined with glass tubes, some shooting ink into the ceiling above and some clean and empty, as though waiting to be filled with artifacts and put on display in a museum. The environment was so strange that Henry hardly even blinked when he saw bizarre ink creatures trapped in cages. One, however, did catch his attention- a little Edgar squeaking at him in attempt to communicate, looking at him with pleading, soulful eyes.

 _I’m sorry I can’t help you,_ Henry thought, trying to keep away the creeps, _but right now I have to focus on saving the thirteen._ Thankfully, the item Sammy had mentioned was easy to find, even in the dim light. As soon as Henry found it, he heard a scratching as he wall, followed by pounding. And that is when he tore for the elevator.

Once he got back, Sammy had news. “I was able to find the spell for spiritual strength. And yeah, you’re going to have to get a priest to bless your blood. A spell to somehow let you draw pentagrams is going to be harder, but I think I think I can get it.”

At the end of the day, Henry and Sammy had together drawn and prepared a pentagram within a pentagram within a pentagram. The inside circle was the circle of air drawing. A sacrifice of a fetal pig (taken from one of Joey’s jars) lay at the center of it. Outside of that was the binding pentagram, as having air drawing bestowed upon one would require summoning a demon. To the left of that circle, a rune of spiritual strength had been drawn. As of right now, a vial of Henry’s blessed blood lay upon it, ready to be used when the time came. Surrounding the whole thing was a pentagram to trick the benevolent demon, keep it from seeing any of the magic Henry was using. Circling each of the pentagrams was five candles, and each one, plus four whiskers of a cannibal rat, one for each hour the spell was meant to last. According to Sammy, keeping that much magic in one person would be very hard on the body, and they certainly didn’t want it going on longer than necessary.

“Well, that’s that,” Sammy said. “Just spill the blood, open the pig’s stomach cavity, and light the candles tomorrow before you take off for the party. This isn’t a generic pentagram, so you won’t even have to talk to the demon. I sure hope this turns out.”

“What do you mean, hope?”

“I’ve never tried anything this ridiculously complicated before. And all that magic in one body? You’ll be lucky if you don’t pass out. I mean, I used the smallest pig possible for this, and the spiritual strength spell should help, but… well, let’s just say you’re being real noble, Henry. Good luck. And the writing spell will probably take an hour or two to take full effect, so make sure you plan for that. And memorize how to draw a binding pentagram.” With that, Sammy gave Henry a pat on the shoulder and left.

While it was certainly the strangest house visit that had happened that day, it was not the only one among the thirteen. About one in the afternoon, Bertrum stood on the doorstep of his own house, waiting for the man wearing his body to open the door. After a while the door did crack open, only to immediately close once Jack saw who it was. Desperate, Bertrum knocked again, and shoved his way in as soon as the door opened again. Jack was staring at him, stunned. “…Yes?”

“Sorry for breaking in like this, but this is a bit of an emergency. You see, I’ve been, well, having issues with your husband.”

Jack searched his mind. Did any of the other players have a husband? Regardless, this was pretty suspect from someone who was already on to him identity-wise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a husband,” he said in a flat voice.

Bertrum looked at him with annoyance. “Jack, now is not the time to play games. I’ll tell you every identity I know once you come with me. Your husband thinks you are having an affair and I will not thank you for the other night by ruining your relationship.”

Jack’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Okay, let’s go!”

“Why does he think you’re having an affair?” Jack asked as they made their way to Jack’s house.

“Oh, you know. I’ve been avoiding your home life as much as possible because I wanted a break from pretending, and I didn’t want to interfere with your family life. So, I’ve been pretending that I have to work late every night. I always added in the little detail that it was with Sammy, especially towards the end of the week when I was considering finding somewhere else to sleep at night. And, well, I don’t like being touched, Jack. And you know how affectionate Terry is.”

“I’m usually affectionate right back.”

Bertrum’s face twisted in disgust. “Right. He must be incredibly confused about the sudden change in behaviour. Which is why we’re going to explain to him exactly what is going on.”

By the end of the day, there were two more players sleeping in their own beds, knowing what was hopefully enough identities to keep them alive.


	6. Complete Destruction

Around half past five the next day, Henry arrived back at his house, the champagne box tucked under his arm. Joey opened up the door before Henry could even knock at it. “Henry! Come in. What have you got there?” Behind him, Linda was giving a long-suffering grin that made Henry want to curl up into a ball and die. Henry had always thought she was bad at pretending to like Joey, and now he knew it was true. Though it was hard to notice much of anything with the burning feeling that the spells had left in his chest and hands.

“Champagne. To celebrate. You know, after seven. Can I hide it away in your room until then?”

“Sure!” Joey chirped. Good, he didn’t suspect a thing. On the way to Joey’s room, Henry’s middle child, Lyle, ran out from his room and hugged his leg.

“Hi, uncle Joey!”

Henry ruffled the boy’s hair. “Hey, Lyle. How’re you doing?”

“I’m good!” the little boy chirped before going back into his room to play with his legos.

“Hey, Henry? Why don’t I take your boys to the park so they won’t be underfoot?”

Joey considered that. “That sounds like a great idea. You know how much they love spending time with you.” It would be one less person to watch, but that was okay. He was fairly sure that Henry was inhabiting his body anyhow. And not having to scrutinize his own actions in front of Henry would be good.

Meanwhile, Henry was glad that his sons wouldn’t have to see however many people drop dead if he failed. Plus, if the burning got any worse he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

About half an hour later, all of the guests had arrived. Linda looked out at the yard. In one corner, the Thieves’ Gambit were gathered together. In another, Jack and Bertrum were standing. Sammy and Susie were in the third corner, and Thomas and Allison were in the fourth. Everyone else was standing alone, and everyone was just staring at each other with hunter eyes, occasionally whispering to a group member or passing along a note. Linda was thoroughly weirded out. “Is everyone okay?” she asked.

“Henry” went up to her. “Yes, honey. We’re fine. We’re just playing a game.”

“Oh… I see.” Linda drew down her eyes, then met her husband’s with a look of desperation on her face. “Please come with me inside,” she implored.

“Of course,” Joey whispered. He’d been doing his best to play Henry while he was at home, because he didn’t want to mess up Henry’s family life. But maybe it hadn’t worked.

Once they were out of earshot of the others, Linda looked at him seriously, and said, “Henry, What is going on? First you move us all here for someone you cut ties with a decade ago, and then you start acting… weird! Like you’re trying your best to be your normal self, but there’s something going on under the surface. I was worried that you might be having some mental issues you were hiding. And then you invite a bunch of people, most of which you’ve never spoken of before, over to stare nervously at each other in the backyard! Now I feel like _I’m_ losing my mind! We used to communicate so well. What happened? Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Joey was feeling a little overwhelmed, and he did pity Linda’s situation. He put an arm around her. “I’m sorry. I can only tell you what I already have.”

Linda nodded and reached for his hand. “That you’ll tell me Sunday night. But it is Sunday night.”

“Yes. And I will. I promise. Just give me a little more time. 7:30, alright? Everything will make sense after that.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Then, she kissed him passionately on the lips. Joey didn’t stop her, although she was going awfully hard at it. After about ten seconds of mouth-on-mouth contact, they separated. “Come with me.”

She all but pulled him to their bedroom, flung off her pastel green dress, and began slowly unbuttoning her husband’s shirt. Joey was stunned, a hundred thoughts dashing through his mind at once.

“I want you to love me. The explanation can wait. But I need you to love me now.” Once the last button was undone, she gently pulled off his shirt.

“Just give me a second,” Joey said, slipping the shirt back on and escaping to the bathroom. Was he actually going to do this? He could tell her to just wait until after seven, he supposed. But then, he took a look at Henry’s face in the mirror, and down at his unscarred hands. Soon, Joey wouldn’t have this anymore. He checked his watch. 6:15.

The bedroom door opened again. “Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart. We’ll have to make this quick and quiet,” Joey got in close and started planting kisses on Linda’s neck, “but I’ll enjoy every second of it. I’m so glad I chose you.” Linda started giggling.

Linda was beautiful and clearly loved him. Henry’s body was strong and vital. For about half an hour, Joey was in rapture.

Meanwhile, in the yard, Thomas thought he’d make one last attempt to get out of this situation alive. “Why are we submitting to this demon’s will anyhow?” he asked. “I have an idea. Let’s just all write down who we are, so we all have the same number of identities and all get to live.”

“I don’t know,” “Shawn” said, “the demon made it seem like giving the same amount of identities as you get will kill us. That might end up killing us all.”

“What about Joey and Henry? If they’re not here, our lives will hinge on wether they guessed us,” “Susie” added.

The thieves’ gambit were quietly writing down names- not their honest identities but rather who they most wanted to save. Surely others would have done the same.

While Joey was redressing himself, he accidentally kicked the champagne box. There was no clanging of glass. Suddenly putting the dots together, Joey began to open it. Then, he was in the void, and and nothing was in his hands.

 **Welcome ba-ack!** The demonic voice sang. Joey looked to see that the other players were all there, too, standing in a line with about ten feet between each person. **I trust that you’ve all played your hardest? Well, of course you did. It’s called self-preservation. And it was very entertaining for me. Anyhow, it’s time to see what you’ve got. No talking and no peeking during the exam.**

Before each player, a quiz booklet and paper appeared. The first question was “The person in Henry Stein’s body is ________”, and there was such a question for each player. In every player’s booklet, their own question had been scratched out. The quiz barely took five minutes to complete, except for Henry. Henry’s hands were burning with inner pressure. Even holding the pencil was almost too much for him to bear. Hopefully, that was just the spell kicking in. Once Henry had finished, the quizzes vanished.

 **Alright, let’s do this best to worst,** the demon announced. **Henry. You guessed all twelve identities, and were guessed by eight. Your lack of caution seems to have payed off. You live.**

Henry should have felt something, but he honestly just wanted relief from the pain.

**Next, the Thieves’ Gambit: my favourite little game-breakers. All of you guessed nine identities, except Wally, who guessed ten. Some of you got guessed more than others, but all of you live.**

Anyone could have seen the metric ton of pressure that was removed from from the five players. Equally obvious was everyone else’s fear. Only so many people could win at this game, and if a solid five of them had guessed nine identities…

 **And Mr. Joey Drew. You guessed six identities correctly. Do you want to know how many people correctly guessed you?** The demon paused, then released its high, mocking laughter. **Six.** It was at this time that Henry remembered the seeing tool. He took it out and quickly found the demon. It had the classic wings, long, pointed tail, and horns of a demon, but its body was reminiscent of a hairless cat. It would have been the size of a small human if it were capable of standing on its back legs. Its head was a horrible combination of squirrel and alligator. And it was making its way towards Henry’s body.

“Stop!” Henry pleaded. “That’s my body. You didn’t switch us back yet”

The demon crept gracefully towards Henry’s body. **Don’t worry. I’ll switch you back once I’m done. I’ve never put a soul into a dead body before. I wonder how long you’ll take before you get too rotten to move. Three days, maybe four? And what’ll happen to your soul after that? It’s going to be…** the demon stabbed its sharp tail through Henry’s ribs, tearing straight through to reveal several inches of now blood-and-flesh covered tail. **Fascinating!**

In that moment, Henry could feel the physical pain in his hands explode out- it was as though the pressure had been released. He could see that his fingers were on fire. He turned to the player next to him- Norman Polk, whom he’d identified as Lacie Benton. “Lacie. Take this so you can see the demon. I need you to hold him down. Please!”

Lacie nodded, and took off after the demon like a quarterback after a football. Henry, though he couldn’t quite keep up with Norman’s long legs and Lacie’s killer instinct, followed closely behind. Everyone else made chase as well. The demon took a moment to get its tail out of Henry’s body, but once it did, it was as quick as the cat it resembled. It was a long chase, but it was an endless void. Lacie finally caught its back leg, and wrestled it to the ground. It scratched her across the face. As others caught up, they helped her to keep it fully under control. 

Henry drew up the binding pentagram, drawn in fire, and screamed, “Put us back in our proper bodies, then go back to hell!” Though no one could see him now, the demon was cringing in defeat. Henry only had enough time to look back and see his lifeless body.

The next thing Joey was aware of was that the pain in his chest was gone, replaced with a milder burning in his hands, nausea, and the lightness of his head. He was hyperventilating. He’d “overdosed” on magic before, but this… What had Henry done to him? “Are you okay, uncle Joey?” one of Henry’s sons asked. 

“Get an ambulance,” was all Joey managed to say before falling down unconscious.


	7. Epilogue

Henry came to slowly, gradually. The first thing he was aware of was the radio playing.

_…though they may be implicated in the murders, the police have decided to allow Sammy Lawrence and Thomas Connor their freedom in exchange for full cooperation in the investigation into the ink machine. As for the beings made of ink found in the basement, their uncertain level of sentience makes them a challenge for our ethics boards to decide…_

When Henry opened his eyes, he recognized that he was in the hospital and immediately remembered what had happened the last time he was awake. The stab wound in his ribs protested as he tried to sit up, and he looked down to see that a medical-looking tube was coming out of his side.

The radio switched off. “Henry, you’re up!” It was Linda. She reached for his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got stabbed through the ribs,” Henry replied. His brain was still working very slowly, so it was a moment before he sighed, “I have… so much explaining to do, don’t I?”

“No. Sammy explained everything to me about the last week, and why we’re here, and the others were able to back him up on it. I don’t really know what to say except… I’m sorry it happened. Now, are you ready to hear what’s happened since you were taken in here?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I…” Linda sighed. “Well, that part can wait. I don’t want to keep secrets from you, but I want to at least get you oriented, first. So, whoever was in your body was in our room when you dropped like a rock. I felt like I was going crazy when I saw those stab wounds because, of course, it seemed like they’d come out of nowhere. I called for an ambulance and ran to the guests to see if any of them knew first aid. Allison did, and she kept you from bleeding out. That’s when the others explained everything to me. Lyle came running back before the ambulance got there, saying that Uncle Joey had passed out, which Sammy said was an effect of magic. We took him to the hospital as well. Once I knew that you were safe, Allison approached me about a champagne box full of evidence and if I was willing to take it to the police. Well, I did it. It seems like a lot is going to change.”

Henry sat in silence a moment, trying to take it all in. He had so many questions. “So… Sammy made it out without legal consequences. What about Joey? What’s going to happen to him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if they’re decided yet. They haven’t been able to talk to him because…” Linda’s face darkened.

“Is he dead?!”

“What? No! Just… unconscious.”

“Oh.” Henry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “How long has it been? And how long will I take to recover?”

“Well, thankfully the only organ that demon hurt was your lung. The doctors said it would take six to eight weeks. And you weren’t out very long. Sixteen hours, maybe. You were already out from blood loss, but they had to give you some general anesthesia to make sure you wouldn’t wake up while repairing your lung. But you’re going to make a full recovery. That’s what they said.”

Henry nodded. He wasn’t sure how else to respond. “That’s good.”

“Now, there are two things I have to tell you. They’re both pretty shocking. Do you want me to wait?”

A part of Henry did just want to rest. “We can talk later. I’m really tired.”

Linda looked pained. “Okay,” she said, ruffling Henry’s hair and getting up to leave. “No, I actually have to tell you now. I don’t want to keep it from you.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

Linda sat back down and looked away. “Okay. Easy part first, I guess. So, I slept with someone else. They were in your body, and I didn’t know it wasn’t you, and… I’m sorry.”

There were probably a hundred elements to this that Henry wasn’t awake enough to figure out. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t know it wasn’t me. Joey should…“ suddenly Henry remembered that he was supposed to be dead. That the demon had wanted to put a soul in a dead body to see what would happen. 

“Hmm…? You okay? You went quiet.” 

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I slept with-”

“-Oh, right. Uh, I forgive you, Linda.” 

Linda looked immensely grateful, albeit somewhat weirded out. “Thank you. So, the other part is that Joey is probably going to be locked up. He was planning murders, so they can’t just let him roam free until the courts are settled- it would be dangerous. And the person who’s supposed to run the studio in his absence, or inherit it if he’s put away for life… is you. Do you want it, Henry?”

Henry didn’t even know if he’d ever see the outside of this hospital. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about. What do you think?”

“Well, I know that the people working there are incredible. I was breaking down after you’d just collapsed on me, and they did everything right when it came to caring for you until you were in professional hands and in making sure I was okay. I think they’re good people you’d be working with. And honestly, a big part of me is just happy that I know what’s going on now. I’m fine with you taking the role. I guess it depends on if you’re comfortable with leadership. And if you think it’s not too much of a financial risk.”

“Thanks. Look, it’s been wonderful talking to you, but I really need to sleep now. Can we finish this conversation later?”

“Of course. I’ll bring the kids to visit tomorrow. I love you.” With that, Linda left.

Henry didn’t even consider the studio until a few days had gone by without his body rotting. He truly was alive, then. The demon had failed. In the same time span, Joey woke up, and once the doctors deemed that there was nothing wrong with him that would make it unsafe, he was arrested. After that, Henry began calling Joey Drew Studios department managers to see how things were going. According to Sammy, they were in need of some episode ideas, but everything was running smoothly. They could have used some creative direction. Henry had some episode ideas to give. According to Grant, there was great interest in selling the ink machine to research, and his department was in agreement that it would be an excellent idea- the ink machine had been a massive financial drain, and its selling price would at least help the studio recover from that as well as being a massive thorn out of everyone’s side. But he had wanted to check in with the new CEO, first. Henry told him to to ahead with it after making sure the company they were selling to was ethical and responsible. 

New CEO, Henry thought. It seemed like everyone had already decided for him. Well, sure, he’d give it a try. For now at least. After all, he had a week’s experience.


End file.
